


Hunger.

by ThatDuVoldeWoman_x



Category: Original Work
Genre: Gen, Original Character(s), Original Female Character(s) - Freeform, Original Fiction, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-22
Updated: 2018-04-22
Packaged: 2019-04-26 04:48:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14394630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThatDuVoldeWoman_x/pseuds/ThatDuVoldeWoman_x
Summary: The vampire is hungry...





	Hunger.

There was something delicious about the night air in New Orleans but also in the whole of Louisiana. Perhaps it was because the air was filled with the lush scents of magnolia blossoms that caressed your senses as gently as a lover might. Or perhaps, it was the food being prepared for those who came craving a Creole delight. Maybe it was the underlying aura of mystery, history and seduction that drew one in. The rumor of a revered VooDoo priestess who was still walking amongst the living could be a reason too. It simply added to the excitement of it all. 

There's many things about New Orleans that intrigue and beguile. She was like any typical Southern Belle though; beautiful yet coy. She's full of secrets and if you listened? She might just tell you a few. There's no other city like it and that was why Clarisse du Volde had come back after the end of the tedious affair between the North and South. It could be said that she relished the diversity found here; white, black, mixed. Spanish, Creole, French...the city was a melting pot and she dearly loved how easily it was to blend in. The ever growing population made it far easier to brush aside if someone went missing too. Here today, gone tomorrow. 

Standing on the balcony of her townhouse, she looked down at the street below, a smile crossing her full lips. She could hear musicians beginning to play for their suppers, the brothels were opening up for the night, the thieves were planning what streets to hit first and where they might lighten someone of their coins. Free roaming prostitutes wandered about, calling out to sailors who were newly in port. Fellow vampires were making their ways out as well. In the backrooms of taverns, Romani fortune tellers were readying for the onslought of customers they'd likely receive. Deep in the bayou, VooDoo ceremonies were going to take place; Clarisse's keen eye noticed a few persons of color dressed in all white, colorful turbans wrapped firmly around their head, securing their hair out of their faces. She didn't blame them; the acrid humidity made hair sticking to ones neck hellish. They moved along backstreets skillfully, as not to garner too much attention. Clarisse simply smiled as she moved down the stairwell, fingers brushing along the wrought iron bannister. 

Dressed in a dark green silk bustle gown, she moved about with an elegance that belied the truth; she was wealthy, for starters and secondly, she was not of this time frame. Her feet were nestled in knee-high boots that had three inch heels. She always tried to make up for how short she was. Clarisse's blonde tresses were nestled neatly atop her head in an intricate updo with a few tendrils curling and framing her face. She was not a traditional beauty but yet, there were still those drawn to her and she did nothing to discourage the attention lavished upon her. A light frown crossed her features as someone trod upon the train of her gown but she continued on her way. Her eyes, the same emerald as the silk of her attire focused on the street before her. She had a task after all. 

Her gift of hearing for miles around her made finding someone to dine upon far easier. The amusement seemingly glittered in her eyes as she turned towards the St. Charles cemetery. What a terrible place for a rape. Knitting her brow and lifting her train, she offered a flower vender a few coins for a small bouquet. She overpaid purposely so the woman could get a room and a meal for the evening. Clarisse continued on her way, glad of the darkness that was as falling upon the city. Slipping through the gates, she listened. A woman was protesting and the man she was with wasn't listening to her objections. Calmly, Clarisse made her way towards the mausoleum where the assault was about to take place. In the darkness, she read the name on the small plaque, 'Moretti.' Italian, alright. 

Faking tears, she pressed upon the door, letting out a wail as though surprised at what she was seeing. "Mi esposo!!" She shrieked, motioning to the grave. Damn, that was Spanish! She was glad that neither seemed to notice the error. The couple looked absolutely horrified at she continued with her performance and she moved forward, hitting the man. He raised his arm to dodge her slaps, cursing at her in return. The woman, seeing her chance, escaped. Just as Clarisse had hoped. The man began to mutter apologies when she flashed a smile at him. In the dim light, her eyes flashed. The act was completed. She couldn't help but laugh quietly noting his flaccid penis flopping about as he tried to arrange himself. It looked like a maggot as it writhed about. 

"It really is shameful," she began, her voice cool and even. "That you would defile a woman here of all places."   
"Isn't th-this your husband?"   
"I am unmarried," she continued casually, reaching out and gripping his crotch. Her razor sharp nails pressed in and he screamed like a choir boy. "This isn't the first time you've done this, you dreadful thing. But it is going to be the last." 

Squeezing hard, she laughed as he sank his knees, weeping in agony. The scent of blood began to permeate the air and her fangs extended. Ah, the time was nigh! A pity. He was handsome, really. But she couldn't abide a man who would force himself on an unwilling woman. She squeezed harder, giggling as he hardened. "I'm afraid this won't be as good for you as it is for me," she quipped as he tried in vain to release her vicelike grip 

Letting go of him, she wasted no time in gripping him by his ponytail and exposing the flesh of his throat. The jugular vein pulsated invitingly and she bit down savagely, fangs tearing through the flesh and muscle, sinking into the fountain of her existence. Her eyes rolled back as the warm, coppery fluid filled her and he began to get heavier within her arms. She was loathe to let him go but with each moment she remained, his heart began to slow more and more. If she took any more, he would draw her into his death with him. Withdrawing finally, she drew a handkerchief from between her breasts, wiping at her lips daintily. Warmth filled her and she purred satisfactorily. 

The sound of his heart ceased ad Clarisse felt a momentary pang of sorrow. But it didn't last. Pushing aside the slab on the coffin, she dragged the man up, dumping him into it before pushing it back, having it looked undisturbed. Lifting up the bouquet, she rested the flowers on the stone and left the mausoleum quietly. Not a drop had been wasted, not a single drop had gotten on her gown and she had helped some poor woman from ruin.Taking a moment, she smoothed out her gown and carried on. 

The night was young.  
And she was hungry.


End file.
